


Old Souls

by schrodingerstheory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Depression, Gen, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, No Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Politics, Rebirth, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodingerstheory/pseuds/schrodingerstheory
Summary: Death wasn’t the end of Harry Potter. It wasn’t that simple. Never that simple. Instead of that were the neverending circle, cursed loneliness, and pointless existence.Born again as a Potter in a world completely different from his first, he hadn’t expected to find a spark of hope. A companion.And nothing and no one would take it from him./ Beta reader needed! I can only pay with memes but if you want to work with me on this fanfic - comment. I’ll get back to you!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 11
Kudos: 151





	Old Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-reader needed! I can only pay with memes but if you want to work with me on this fanfic - comment. I’ll get back to you!
> 
> Harry Potter belongs to J.K.Rowling. This fanfiction is written purely for my own amusement. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker and this chapter was not proof-read by any beta-reader.

This time death came quickly and he barely noticed the moment spell hit him. It was painless, and he wasn’t mad at his grandfather who casted _avada kedavra_ at him. Maybe he should be furious, full of anger and sense of injustice but he was far too tired for it. This life wasn't a long one but sweet Death, it was exhausting.

He was born to the youngest of four Parkinson sisters, conceived as a mistake during her sixth year of Hogwarts. Quick and scandalous wedding later, she was pulled from school to finish her studying at home and bore a child. She would probably be happier if Roman Yaxley wasn't a second son with a poor chance of being a lord to his House, quite meek and not particularly talented. Mediocre. And he wasn’t overjoyed with laughs about almost having a bastard child and being married at seventeen. Pauline Parkinson was hardly a beauty and he hadn’t thought of her more than of fooling around.

The shameful scandal wasn’t ending here but the last part wasn’t widely known. He was pretty sure they told the world that Anthony Yaxley was born very sick. No family of their standing would ever admit that they feared they had a squib. Everyone detested him from the moment healer announced that his magic was wildly unstable and if it doesn’t calm down, chances of him being able to use it were abysmal. Roman hadn’t looked at him very often, Pauline detested him, and the rest of the family ignored his existence after they agreed to wait until his seventh birthday. After all, Pauline was still young, she could have other children and she didn’t need to bore an heir.

And his seventh birthday came, the squib had to be dealt with. Pauline was crying, which wasn’t surprising. Yes, she detested him, but she also cared and she couldn’t hide it. She was a very contradictory woman. She never hugged or held him close but she never let his cousins hurt him. In this short life, he was taken care of well even if by house elves. He was forbidden from leaving the house. Being all alone, without magic and the chance to leave for the muggle world was exhausting. Almost like seven years on a death row.

Now, it ended.

Nice, calm, chilly veil fell over his mind and Anthony Yaxley was no more, although it wasn’t his end. Like death wasn’t the end of Harry Potter, and then William, Barnaby, Cleo, Antoine, Pierre, or Cara. Anthony was just the next name to the slowly growing list of identities that he took in during his incarnations.

He couldn’t help but have hope every time his life ended that it would be the last. He never was that lucky and would scream his lungs out during childbirth with all his pent up frustration. No one seemed to mind hearing him being loud at that moment.

He didn’t know how long he was suspended in a place he named _In Between_. Time didn’t exist there. He just was. Aware of his existence but nothing else. Sometimes he just slept there, sometimes he wondered about a lot of things or analyzed his experiences. Was there someone before Harry? He had no idea. 

Once, in his third life as Barnaby Wells, he met someone similar to him it a magical bar in Tuscany. He was instantly aware of their presence in the room, and they gravitated towards each other. They talked for hours, exchanged experiences. He got to know he wasn’t the only one. That there were more people like him. Anastasia was a much older soul, existing about ten lives longer. They long ago left behind attempts to name who they are. Anastasia was born a man multiple times but they also were a woman for several other incarnations. They decided they just were and that was it. At that point, he still felt like he, although he didn’t have any problems with being a she. Thinking of himself as a being or a soul was too abstract.

What was baffling, Anastasia had no idea what made them aware of the circle of rebirth either. He shared his suspicions about the Deathly Hallows, and Anastasia admitted to being a Peverell once but it wasn’t something certain nor a solid lead.

They shared their stories. Talked about words they inhabited. It was always Earth, always seemingly the same world with wizards, creatures, and muggles but there always were key differences. Friends as foes and foes as friends, wars or times of peace, divergent timelines, names, relationships… Like they were moving across alternates of the same universe, sometimes born twice in the same one. Anastasia told him how they once were reborn as their great-granddaughter, and then about a ridiculous realization that they were born to the same parents in two different worlds. There were no rules. No patterns.

When they separated, he felt better. They never promised to meet each other again because it was a gable but they agreed on a symbol. It was a simple one, a circle with two infinity signs interwoven in it perpendicular to each other. If one of them noticed such a sign, they could draw another circle around it. It was not so much a way of communication or a way of identification, but a desperate way of saying _you are not alone. We are somewhere. We still exist with you_. The faint possibility of finding each other was a bonus, and they could leave each other warded letters, books, money, anything. After all, they all were rather skilled after their second or third life. Their knowledge only grew. And if by some chance they met someone like them, they could share this symbol. No one deserved to be this lonely and lost. 

As Anthony, he carved their symbol on the side of a huge bookshelf in the Yaxley Manor, in the attic and inside of the ugly antique clock in the sitting room. His only witnesses were two elves that followed him everywhere but he ordered them to never remove the carvings and never tell his family about them. What was comical, the house elves always knew he wasn't a normal child or wizard. When he was curious and asked during his third life, his house elf told him he felt like an old soul whatever she meant by it. She couldn't put it another way or explain it, so he asked five other elves in different lives but neither of them had something else to say. It was useful when he forbade the Yaxley elves from revealing the carvings to anyone who hadn’t felt like him.

He felt a pulling.

In the beginning, it was barely there. From his experience, he knew that his new body was conceived somewhere. He remembered two times when the pulling just stopped and he had to wait for the next one.

The pull got stronger. So it wasn’t the case this time. He was getting pulled into his new body and it was always such a weird feeling. Like he was moving while staying in place or like he closed his eyes while being very drunk.

The uncomfortable pressure around him, which was getting tighter and tighter, was expected. His birth. Absolutely awful experience, full of pain, glaring light, and too loud noises followed by the most frustrating period of his life he had to wait out before he could count on any independence.

He could hear the muffled voices now. He didn’t have any control of his body, which he knew from the experience because being squished in a womb wasn’t leaving much space to move anyway. The pressure was getting unbearable. He couldn’t even prepare himself for pain that exploded quite unexpectedly. No wonder babies were always born crying and screaming.

He screamed too. Loudly and furiously because haven’t they heard about warming charms? It was awfully cold, he was wet and felt gross. He was laid on hard space and several spells were cast over him. He wailed louder when his collarbone snapped into place just because he could. If he broke a bone during his birth, whoever delivered him could have a headache for all he cared. He was one day old, he could be petty.

He quieted a bit when someone wrapped him tightly in blankets. His eyes were still shut so he worked on opening them, which wasn’t that easy. Not that he would see anything clearly. Newborn’s eyesight was almost as bad as Potter’s. It was a good thing his hearing was great. Once he was born deaf and that was a whole new experience.

Whoever was taking care of him lifted in a very confident way. He was a bit curious about who he was born to, although he was fine with anyone who wasn’t a muggle. He missed magic badly. What were the chances of being born a squib again?

“And? Is my baby healthy?” He could tell that his mother was very tired and anxious. Her voice wasn’t familiar which was usually a good sign. It was hard to let go of expectations and treat anyone like a stranger with a blank page. 

“Everything is fine, Lady Potter. There was a broken collarbone but it was easily mended. It’s completely normal for natural births. You have a beautiful, healthy boy,” said the mediwitch, handing him over. He forced his eyes open. Everything was blurry but he could see a very distinctive hair color and characteristic green eyes that were looking at him. Was it really Lily Potter?

“Boy?” his mother nearly whispered. “But on every scan…? Well, aren’t you a little prankster, young man? Give me some time before you start troublemaking, hm?”

“Would you like me to call for Lord Potter, madam?”

At this point, he didn’t focus on what was being said. So he was in a male body and was born again into the Potter family. That was surprising. Was there a war? A Dark Lord? Red hair and green eyes were very telling but he didn’t want to go ahead of himself. It didn’t have to be Lily at all.

He startled himself when the door opened suddenly, and a small child came in running.

“Mommy, mommy! Baby?” Circle, his ears were more sensitive than he remembered.

“Shh, Harry. You’ll wake him up.”

“Him?”

“Yes, him. You have a little brother. Don’t look at me like that James. It’s probably your fault that your son decided to prank us from my womb.”

That got a reaction from apparently James Potter, who laughed warmly and came closer.

“It’s my son now, Lils?”

Lily Potter hummed.

“We have chosen only girls' names. We can’t exactly name him Rose and as much as I like your father, I am not naming him Fleamont Junior. I was quite set on a flower name.”

“Mommy, wanna see!”

“Lift him, James.”

Now, in what he sometimes called his original life, he hadn’t met his grandparents. They died before he was born, and either Lily or James hadn’t had a chance to tell him about them. He was quite relieved that he wasn’t born Harry again. Once was enough. From what he gathered so far, he was his younger brother and if Lily and James lived to have another child, James' parents didn’t die, then the timeline was already much different.

“…’s small.”

“You were as small as him, Harry. You are so hyped up, why don’t you go with daddy and ask grandpa and grandma to come in?”

“And Siri, and Moony?”

“If they’re here.”

“Aren’t you tired?” James must have put little Harry on the floor and held his hand because small feet tried to run away quite loudly but weren’t getting any closer to the door.

If he was Lily, he wouldn’t want to see anyone else until the next day. He tried to move and open his eyes again, but he managed it only for a short while. They both were looking at him, James adjusted the blanked a bit. After Yaxley’s, it was nice to have someone happy to have a child.

“I am but the potions still hold. He was so excited to see the world that he was born under an hour and broke his collarbone. Healer Abernathy mended it nicely so no need to look so alarmed. Go for them, James.”

Everyone seemed to be expecting a girl but his sex was quickly turned into a joke and he was called the youngest prankster in the family. They focused more on his name because they had decided on Rose Marie, and that was hardly a name for a boy. Not that he would care and the more he heard, the more he would prefer simple Rose. 

Euphemia Potter, which seemed to be his grandmother again, started to list family names associated with flowers trying to be helpful. Ronan and Narcissus were almost immediately rejected, and from what Sirius said, there was no love between him and his cousins in this world too. Florian was considered for a while and so was Basil but then Remus agreed with James that he hadn’t looked like either. That argument was lost on him, although Basil wouldn’t be bad. It was his second name in his second life after a grandfather he liked good enough.

“My mother was named Valeria, and I remember you considered it a while,” said Fleamont Potter in his deep, booming voice. “It has a male version.”

“Valerian Potter? It sounds nice,” commented Euphemia. “A bit unique but Harry isn't a common name among wizards either. It’s a shame that old Henry couldn’t see him before he passed away. He was so glad that your firstborn would be named after him. Dear Valeria would be honored too, I am sure.”

Valerian sounded completely awful. He would prefer Narcissus or Ronan every single time over Valerian.

Lily laughed above him. “Look at that grimace. I don’t think he likes Valerian at all. Aren’t you a little bossy? Making surprises and showing your opinions right after?”

“It reminds me of my great-uncle, Hyacinthus Potter. He married into the family, and the first thing he said after seeing the Potter Manor after the renovation was something along the lines of that’s the most atrocious color palette I have ever seen in my entire life, did you blind yourself during the experiments Felix or poor taste is the trademark of your existence? He was a brilliant man but walked over most people, and his husband Edmund Potter was always trailing behind installing new wards so no one would come for their necks or trying other kinds of damage control. My grandfather Felix loved him, but they always annoyed themselves to death,” Fleamont told them, and Sirius laughed loudly. He seemed happy and joyful, which was a bit of bittersweet experience.

“But he got like a house on fire with your grandmother and mother. He talked your grandmother into being an Unspeakable like him because he wanted someone worth his time to work with,” added Euphemia.

“That reminds me of Uncle Alphard. He was hilarious too,” joined in Sirius.

“I like this name. Hyacinthus. Cinth for short… or Thus. I had a friend in my neighborhood which was named Cynthia, and I always found it very pretty. And Valerian is nice too… but I am kind of sold? I always liked the name Anastasia too but it’s not a universal name.”

“I wouldn’t be sure about it because I went to Hogwarts with Anastasius Abbot. I believe he’s a healer in Paris right now.” He wanted to strangle his new grandfather for his helpful anecdotes. The name brought memories of Anastasia, and he wouldn’t choose to use it from his own free will.

“Don’t look at me, I named Harry, he here is your call,” said James to Lily somewhere from his left.

Finally, he ended up named Hyacinthus Anastasius Potter and decided that Lily Potter shouldn’t be allowed to name children. Especially if Fleamont Potter advised her along the process. Was he that bitter about his name? Comparing his new name to Fleamont, he would prefer being teased about fleas his whole life. How one could jump from Harry to Hyacinthus? Why did wizards have to be so careless and ridiculous about naming their children? 

*

He was pretty sure that Nymphadora Tonks took one look at him, when she visited with Andromeda for the first time, heard his name and thought, _you poor kid._ Cinthus never understood her determination in reminding everyone and ensuring she would be called Tonks but now he could sympathize somehow. He had a few weeks to get used to it but still was amazed by the difference between Harry and _this_. When he heard that their huge calico kneazle was named Fluffy, he came to the conclusion that Lily Potter shouldn’t be allowed to name not only anyone but anything living.

The differences from his first life and this started showing quite early. Nymphadora had a younger sister Amanda, and the Potters were far from dying out. Fleamont had a cousin Charles, who married Dorea Black, and together they had a son, Erwin, who in turn had three children, Aaron, Marcus, and Violetta. Aaron’s wife was currently pregnant and Violetta just got married. Regulus Black lived. Longbottoms were sound of mind and had another child after Neville, Ester, who was two months older than him. It took a visit to the Weasleys to sink in that he was a year younger than Ginny, who was his wife in the first life. They divorced when their youngest son went to Hogwarts but they stayed friends until their death years later. Molly Weasley was really overbearing and Arthur meeker than Cinthus remembered. All of their seven children were present, and the twins were delightfully similar, always tormenting James over the pranks, jokes, and stories about Hogwarts. What was surprising was their close-knit relationship with Percy. They were a team of three instead of two. Ron couldn’t share a thing. He busted into tears three times when Harry tried to play with him and gathered all his toys close to him. He was even looking angry at his brothers because Charles and Bill led Harry into the grass to play with him in throwing a ball.

As much as he was curious about differences, his time as a newborn was awful. The diapers, feedings, his helplessness… It got on his nerves. The only thing he could do was take advantage of silencing spells put over him and sleep his life away. His body demanded it anyway but he milked it all he could. That at one point made Lily take him to the healers but they proclaimed him perfectly healthy sans his eyes. He had surprisingly good eyesight for Potter and the slight defect of vision was corrected when he was about ten months, so he didn't need glasses.

Learning how to walk was the most exciting thing he did by the end of his first year. He still stumbled and running was not an option but it gave him some sort of mobility he yearned for, and he took his revenge on Lily. He could probably suspect that there would be a huge fuss around his first words. Everyone seemed to be on it, trying to get him to say mama, dada, papa, Padfoot or Pady, Moony or Harry, so he kept quiet just to shout _Fluffy!_ during a family dinner when the kneazle jumped on his highchair. It was more like _fufy_ but it got a point across and the groans began. Euphemia won the bet and she was very proud of herself.

“With how much he loves that kneazle it was obvious,” she exclaimed, although when she was holding him later, she kissed his cheek and told him she wasn’t expecting to win either but she had to bet something when grandma was too difficult to say.

He amused himself for a week or so and called James mama every time he saw him, which sent Sirius into hysterics. Remus and Lily nearly cried when they walked on James sitting face to face with him and patiently correcting mama to papa with zero effects whatsoever. When James gave up, Cinthus waited out a few hours to call him papa and then reached out to Lily yelling mama. Fleamont almost doubled over from laughter.

He would gladly erase the whole potty training episode from his memory. It was quick but very humiliating. Especially when everyone pointed it out. They were so lucky they weren’t able to remember that themselves because he had eight sets of memories from learning how to use the toilet, and that was eight too much.

Trying to come up with appropriate reactions was one of the trickiest things he had to do. The older he got, the more he had to watch himself around others. He never got it quite right, so he ended up being taken to a healer again because Lily worried that something was wrong with him being so content playing with himself and never really interacting with other children. Cinthus could admire her dedication and loving nature, although encouraging interactions by planning a lot of playdates was too much. It took a lot to change his mindset and push through irritation. He had to practice his mobility. Cinthus fingers were small and stubby, and it had taken a lot of practice to hold crayons properly. Catching or kicking a ball was a challenge too.

When he was six, Lily decided to work again, so Harry and he were tossed between their grandparents, sometimes Remus or Nymphadora, who made surprisingly good babysitter when she had the time during school breaks. She was a metamorphmagus and experimented a lot with her looks, so there was no telling what she would be looking like next. Freckles, blue, green, or pink hair to the waist or a pixie cut, small or Roman nose, whole myriad of eye colors. She was much less temperamental than the first Tonks he knew but every bit outgoing and social. Nymphadora also allowed him to call her Dora, proclaiming that after all, they shared the same fate of horrible names. They spent some time figuring out nicknames for him different from Cinthus but nothing really came out of it. Cinth or Thus sounded wrong and Cin simply wasn’t it either. He also got to know that she was as baffled about the difference between Nymphadora and Amanda like he was about Harry and Hyacinthus.

Amanda was a curious case. She was Harry’s age and utterly jealous of her sister. She got huffy every time someone pointed out that Dora could be a valuable asset to the Aurors or Unspeakables, and angry when Dora changed some part of her body unconsciously, which still happened when she was concentrating or emotional. Cinthus could see that it threw a wrench into their relationship, especially when Amanda tried to push herself in the center of attention ignoring Nymphadora and talking over her. Tonks always laughed it up but she was a child herself and sometimes it hit her a bit harder.

Cinthus liked his grandparents in this life. Euphemia was a very calm, warm, and confident woman with a mischievous streak, who marvelously balanced bubbly and energetic Fleamont. His grandfather was a great Potioneer, who gave up his title of Lord Potter to James and retired to brew and experiment, which more often than not resulted in small scale explosions. He taught Cinthus a lot by letting him watch him work, although it always resulted in scolding from either Euphemia or Lily because potions labs were too dangerous for the children even if they sat behind a strong shield charm. Buzzkills like Fleamont liked to call them.

By the time he was ten, he had a reputation of a quiet, calm child who liked to read through his grandparents’ library but was content to stay with Dora or older Weasleys, if it was needed. Complete opposite to Harry, who prefered to play with Ron or Neville. Everyone joked he was a material for Ravenclaw, which would be honestly the best for him if he didn’t want to bring on himself too much attention. In previous lives, it always granted him the freedom to read and study whatever he wanted, which helped greatly with boredom. Twice he landed himself in Slytherin because of being Rowle or Carrow, which provided nice diversity. Once he was a Gryffindor again and once decided on Hufflepuff but it was a bit too much. The Sorting Hat mainly let him choose.

What was great, Euphemia and Fleamont never checked what he was reading. They showed him from which books he could start, what would be good for Hogwarts and how the books were placed and that was it. That placated him for a long while because he talked the Potter house elves into smuggling him a book or two into Lily and James' house after ordering them to keep quiet about it. Sadly there wasn’t anything that interesting. The library in the Potter Manor focused mainly on potions and herbology, and while impressive, Cinthus never really cared that much about those subjects. It was still better than nothing.

In that library he was often left alone and could act like the old tired soul he was, resting and pondering what he wanted to do with himself. It was a rare luxury. He was constantly surrounded by family and other people, which required a certain degree of involvement. He had to talk, laugh, watch himself, pretend, stage accidental magic incidents. Sometimes he had enough of it, too fed up with this never-ending repetitive circle and existence drowned in loneliness. He hadn’t belonged, like an egg tossed by a cuckoo into another bird's nest, although he couldn’t help but get attached. It was his weakness he was well aware of. He cared. At times he was on the verge of admitting the truth because the Potters deserved it but then he reminded himself of his second and third life and how much people feared what they didn’t know.

So he threw himself in finding more differences between this life and the first in history books. For one, there was no war. According to books he found, Lord Voldemort indeed rose in the early seventies, although he was betrayed by Blacks after a failed murder attempt of Orion Black, who hadn’t been eager to finance his campaign from the Black vaults. This set fire and shaken the foundations of the Knights of Walpurgis, deterring many supporters and raising doubts. Lord Voldemort was killed in a fierce battle that took the lives of many wizards and witches. Some believed that it was the end of the Dark Lord, some that it was too easy. There was a mention of rumors about Voldemort’s son escaping with his mother, although none of them confirmed. The thought of a bald, pale, and snake-like Voldemort having a child with anyone made him feel sick for the rest of the day.

No book has mentioned the name Tom Marvolo Riddle or Horcruxes, but it would be hard to expect this from a public publication. Hence he could only speculate that there was a chance that Voldemort's wrath was wandering around the world somewhere waiting for a weak soul or a good moment. Maybe he was truly dead but his mind never allowed him to believe in such a happy coincidence. He saw too much to not expect the blow. Someone like Riddle without a backup plan? Hard to believe.

As much as he hated it, his hands were tied. Officially he was ten years old and he had no means to get the information he would like. His family watched over him, and it would take at least another year to get into Hogwarts, where he would be able to confirm if the Diadem is there. After checking the Room of Requirement he could start planning forward. The world was better without the mad Dark Lord prowling through it. And maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t any.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was just thinking about how my take on reincarnation would be like, and... I did it.


End file.
